


alive in our skins

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28604355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Mike," Bill repeats, quieter, but with more intent. "What are you doing right now?"Mike looks down at his legs tucked under the covers, ignores how his dick starts to harden against his thigh. "I'm in bed.""...What would you do if I was there, with you in your bed?"
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 13
Kudos: 77
Collections: Clowntown Kink Meme 2021





	alive in our skins

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [clowntown2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/clowntown2021) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  I just want to read Bill and Mike having really filthy phone sex. Could be for the first time or in an established relationship.

“‘ _...But it’s not this random life only, throwing its sensual astonishments upside down on the bloody membranes behind my eyeballs,_ ’” Mike reads, his hands shaking, fingers sticking to the page with sweat. 

Bill is quiet on the line, and Mike could trick himself into thinking he’s reading aloud to no one if it weren’t for the sheer weight of Bill’s presence, even miles away, through the phone.

They've been doing this every week this past year, spending hours on the phone until one of them reluctantly says goodnight. More often than not, they talk about whatever thriller or true crime book the other is reading. Lately, Mike has been gravitating towards poetry, pouring over stanzas and lines in search of representation, something to remind him that he isn't alone in the world in how he feels.

“‘ _Not just me being here again, old needer, looking for someone to need, but you, up from the clay yourself, as luck would have it, and inching over the same little segment of earth-ball, in the same little eon, to meet in a room, alive in our skins, and the whole galaxy gaping there._ ’”

Bill makes a soft noise, either a gasp or a sigh. The distinction doesn’t matter, Mike thinks, because Bill is here, he’s breathing, and Mike is grateful to witness it.

“‘ _And the centuries whining like gnats—You, to teach me to see it, to see it with you, and to offer somebody uncomprehending, impudent thanks._ ’”

“I love that,” Bill says, after a beat. “About being where you’re supposed to be, I think… and having the right person with you. It isn’t incidental.”

If Mike were any more in love with Bill, if he were less patient, he would be packing his things and catching a red-eye to California. But, Mike knows all about waiting. He’s waited long enough, staying in place, allowing life’s karmic pendulum to take its time swinging back his way. If these calls and their increasing intimacy remain part of their weekly routine, things might work out on their own. Things might fall into place, slotting all the missing pieces together. Mike is just waiting for Bill to make the first step towards closing the dwindling distance between them.

Following Bill's lead is easy. He's done it enough and he's been doing it all this time, reveling in each new way Bill lets him in after being closed off for years. If Bill is hesitant, waiting at the edge of an opportunity, there’s a reason for it. When he's finally ready to jump, Mike will be there waiting for him. 

Mike closes the book and sets it on his nightstand, reaching over to dim the lights. He climbs into bed, clutching the phone to his ear. Like this, it sometimes feels like Bill is curled up next to him, talking quietly in the dark.

“Tell me again...who wrote it?”

“William Meredith.  _ Accidents of Birth._”

Around a yawn, Bill says, “I’m writing that down.”

"Tired?" Mike asks. 

"Yeah, long day." 

“You had your book signing thing today, didn't you?" Mike pulls the phone away from his face and taps the speaker icon, swiping to open Facebook to look at Bill's page.

_ Been here for six hours, running on four hours of sleep, going a little insane but I'm happy, nonetheless. _

Underneath, there's a picture of Bill with a stack of books on the table in front of him. His arms are crossed, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows to reveal his flexed forearms, and he's laughing, mouth open and eyes almost closed. 

Mike isn’t  _ active _ on Facebook, simply because he doesn’t have much to post updates about. But, he looks every now and then to quietly tap the heart reaction under Bill’s pictures.

“Sorry, I should have asked earlier," he says, and brings the phone back to his ear. "How'd it go?"

"Great. Would have been better if you were there." 

It had hit Mike suddenly, the wanting, and it hasn't waned nor has he grown tired of it. In fact, it comes in waves every day and he welcomes it each time. 

Sometimes, in the middle of the most mundane tasks, washing dishes or examining a box at the grocery store, he'll remember Bill's shy smile, the way his eyes look when he's fighting sleep and he'll freeze, as if every synapse in his brain is dedicated to bringing those recollections to the front of his mind. And he’ll live in that moment where time doesn't quite exist, stuck between the warmth that brings sweat to his palms and the chill that raises goosebumps on his skin. He’ll see a book, tattered with yellowed pages, or hear an old love song on the radio, staticky with age, and he'll practically double over with longing. It hits him now, when he hears the air between Bill's words. It sounds like a song he's heard before.  _ Would have been better if you were there. _ Half-whispered, drawn-out, with an upward inflection on the words would and better, and emphasis on the word  _you_. 

Thinking of Bill makes him lightheaded, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

All this to say, Mike doesn't know what to say. If he opens his mouth, and admits he wishes he was there too, his heart might fall right out and bounce across the floor.

“Maybe.”

Bill yawns again. “No, d-definitely.”

"You’re tired.” Mike looks at the old analog clock on his nightstand. It’s late here, probably just past dinner for Bill, and they’ve stayed up much later than this before. But, for the sake of being polite, he says, “I should let you go, otherwise I'll ramble all night."

"I wouldn't mind...I like your voice. It's relaxing. And-" Bill pauses, and the silence alone makes Mike’s palms sweat. "It's sexy."

"Oh." Mike's head spins, does a full damn 360 trying to wrap itself around the words. “Oh,” he repeats. "Sexy?"

"Is that- is that weird to say?"

"No- no, it's fine." Mike forces a laugh, now hyper aware of the way his voice rumbles in his chest.  _ Sexy_. "Think the poetry got to you."

"Mike, you could be reading a phone book and I'd f-find it sexy."

"What's...what's sexy about my voice?" Mike shifts in bed, glances around his bedroom room. It feels like someone is watching him, ready to admonish him for getting hard at the mere thought of Bill complimenting him in such a specific, decidedly subjective way.

"It's deep...smooth,” Bill says easily. "It's you. You’re just... you're sexy."

“What’s-” Mike laughs, realizing what he was about to ask. Bill laughs too, something tender and knowing, just for Mike.

“You know what you look like.”

“Well.” Mike can almost hear Bill smiling over the phone. He drags a hang over his face as if he could wipe his own grin away. “What is it about the way that I look that you find sexy?”

"Since you  _ asked_, I like your smile,” Bill answers easily. “You’re tall, wide shoulders, big hands...the, um, whole package, really."

"The whole package," Mike echoes, his face going warm. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you're everything I look for, physically and otherwise."

"Well." Mike clears his throat, reaches for his glass of water on the nightstand. "In case you haven't noticed, I find you very attractive too.” It’s cautious, not nearly as flirty or charming as anything he conjures up when he’s lying awake at night, wishing Bill were next to him.

"I've noticed. Unless you leave hearts underneath all your friends' pictures."

The warmth in Mike's cheeks intensifies and spreads down his chest. He finishes the water in one painful gulp, coughs, and sets the glass aside. "I don't."

“Can I tell you something?” Bill asks, and goes right ahead before Mike can reply. “I get...excited thinking about you. Sometimes, just knowing you’re going to call and thinking about your voice turns me on.”

Mike reaches for his glass again and stops halfway through the movement, remembering it's empty. 

Bill goes on, conversationally, as if he hadn't just stunned Mike into silence. "I love talking to you. I just think...maybe, it would be better if I could touch you."

“I wish you were here,” Mike admits, and immediately feels reckless for doing it. He pulls back a bit, only because he can. He knows all about restraint. "You know...there's always space here for you if you ever wanted to visit. Or anything of that sort."

"I'd like that.”

“I have a couch,” Mike says, too elated to care how silly he sounds. “I'd sleep there if...you weren't comfortable with-"

"Sharing a bed with you?"

"I wouldn't mind. Sharing, that is. If you wouldn't mind."

A silence settles between them and Mike opens his mouth to speak again, if only to avoid overthinking, but Bill beats him to it.

"Mike..."

"Sorry," Mike says, ready to withdraw completely. He'll wait, he's fine with waiting. "We don’t have to- If that was-"

"Mike," Bill repeats, quieter, but with more intent. "What are you doing right now?"

Mike looks down at his legs tucked under the covers, ignores how his dick starts to harden against his thigh. "I'm in bed." 

"...What would you do if I was there, with you in your bed?" 

"I'd kiss you." Mike sighs, feeling as though he could float right off the bed. The initial shock of the admission passes quickly, and he's left with a racing heart and goosebumps crawling up his arms. "If that would be okay with you."

"It would be. Do you think about that a lot? Kissing me?"

"If I'm being completely honest, every night after you hang up, I think about taking you to bed and kissing you and...just...-" Mike chuckles, and his dick twitches. He closes his eyes and suddenly, he's knee deep in a fantasy of having Bill's legs over his shoulders, licking him open then sinking into him, inch by inch. He imagines Bill shaking, his eyes teary, and places a gentle hand on himself like a warning. "My imagination definitely gets ahead of me."

“Not a bad thing...what do you imagine usually?”

“Depends on the day. Sometimes, it’s just us lying together, kissing, usually clothed. I'm a gentleman, most of the time.”

Bill is quick to reply, but there's hesitation beneath the words. “And other times?” Still, it's teasing, something akin to a dare. It's amazing, how Bill can say so little and have it mean so much.

Mike pauses. “How filthy am I allowed to get?”

“As filthy as you need to get your point across.”

“I think about stripping you, holding you down, and making you come over and over." Mike leaves out the part about practically worshipping him, tasting him, savoring him, making all the waiting worth it, thanking the universe for putting them on the same slab of earth.

This want, separate from the want that gets him lightheaded and doubled over with longing, is one that gets his pulse racing, his mouth watering, smothers him in a heat that builds from the inside out. It isn't senseless. It isn't animalistic or instinctual. It's intentional, the way he wants to be a part of Bill, the way he wants to merge them together so they're one being, bucking and trembling, reaching out to grab only to find the other right there, breathing them in.

Mike chews his lip, grabs his dick through the blanket. "Do you ever think about that?"

"I think about that all the time." Bill exhales, and Mike can feel it, can practically see the weight lifting from Bill's shoulders. "I-it might be unhealthy, actually. I think about your hands and your lips, and how you probably wouldn’t even have to touch my dick to get me off."

"Shit," Mike breathes, kicking the blanket off his lap.

"I think about what you wear to bed,” Bill continues, “and I imagine myself there, touching you. I think about what you sound like when you're turned on and what you sound like when you come. I wonder, sometimes, if I could make you come without even taking your clothes off.”

"Oh, hell." Mike squeezes himself through the fabric of his shorts and his dick throbs under his palm. "Bill, I'm as hard as a rock right now so if you want to know what I sound like when I'm turned on, this is it."

Bill laughs, low and breathy. "I like that."

Mike slips a hand into his shorts and palms himself, making no attempt to stifle the hiss that escapes him. "Do you touch yourself when you think of me?" 

"All the time,” Bill answers easily.

"You can touch yourself now...with me on the phone," Mike says. "I want you to." 

"Will you talk to me...?” Bill trails off, inhales sharply, and lowers his voice. “I'm there, in your bed, how are you touching me?" 

"I'm taking my time…" Mike closes his eyes, grinds the heel of his palm against the base of his dick, and imagines how Bill would writhe beneath him. "I'm kissing your neck and down your chest, licking your nipples, and along your navel. I'm opening your legs and kissing your thighs…" Pale and sensitive, Mike thinks, reddening under his bite. "Teasing you, marking you up."

"Fuck," Bill groans. "I want you to turn me over. I want your mouth on me, spread me open, hold me down, and eat me out." 

"I'd make a mess of you. I'd bury my tongue inside you and lick you until you were dripping." 

"You could make me come just like that, without even touching my dick...I could ride your face for hours." 

Mike shivers, thinking of how Bill's ass would fit in his hands, how he'd happily smother himself under Bill's weight. He tugs his shorts down, sighs when the cool air hits the wet head of his dick, and pauses with his hand wrapped around himself. "I've never been this hard in my life.” 

“Neither have I...can I see? I'll show you mine." 

"That's only fair." 

Mike has never taken a picture of his dick and the thought has honestly never crossed his mind. Idly, he wonders if there’s an artform to it, a way to angle it so it looks less crude and abrupt. As he contemplates this, he gets a message from Bill.

The photo is dimly lit and a bit blurry, but Mike has zero complaints. The hard curve of Bill’s dick lays against the flat plane of his belly and his thumb is pressed right beneath the wet, reddened head. Mike would give almost anything to touch, if only just to commit Bill’s reaction to memory. Speechless, he stares at it a moment longer, haphazardly points his camera at his lap, snaps a picture, and swipes back to Bill’s. "Beautiful." 

"Beautiful?" Bill laughs, and then, "Wow...wait...your cock is f-fucking gigantic." 

"You flatter me,” Mike says, but he’s practically on fire, shifting in the bed like a restless, horny teenager. 

"Oh my fucking god, Mike, I want you in my mouth." 

Mike squeezes his fingers tighter around his dick, strokes up just once and nearly brings himself to the edge. “You aren’t allowed to say that to me and not expect me to go a little crazy.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Mike closes his eyes again, lets pre-cum drop over his fist. "I'm thinking about you on your knees for me, your pink lips stretched around my dick, looking up at me." Mike’s phone beeps, signaling an incoming video call, and his finger slips on the accept icon.

“Hi,” he says, and can’t help but mirror Bill’s smile.

"Hi.” Bill’s flushed already, from the tops of his cheeks down to his neck and bare chest. “Can I- can I see again?" 

Mike switches to the rear camera, pulling back a bit to find a decent angle, and Bill makes an awed sound. “How would you want me to suck you off?” he asks, touching his fingers to his lips. Then, he sucks three fingers in his mouth, hollows his cheeks around them, and moans. 

"Jesus fucking christ." Mike slides his hand up his dick, adding pressure on the head, imagining the slip of his pre-cum is Bill's saliva, the warmth of his hand Bill's mouth. “Start at the tip...drag your tongue down to the base…" Bill sucks on the tips of his fingers, then curls his tongue up the length of them. "Now, back up again," Mike says, "take it all, take your time- can I call you baby?” Bill nods, slipping all three fingers back into his mouth, almost to the knuckles. "Take your time, baby. Does that feel good, my cock in your mouth?" 

"Mmhmm." 

"You want me to keep going slow?" Mike asks, watching the shine in Bill's eyes. "Or do you want to choke on it?" 

Bill hums around his fingers.

Mike licks his lips. "You want me to fuck your face?" 

Bill shoves his fingers into his mouth, gagging, and Mike thinks about gathering it up and guiding it back over his lower lip. Mike pictures his fingers tangled in Bill's hair, knuckles scraping his scalp, and his other hand gripping Bill's jaw, holding him still to fuck his throat. 

“You look so fucking good with your mouth full, baby," Mike breathes, bordering on a whine. He bucks into his hand, silently begs himself to keep his composure for at least a few more minutes. "Keep going like that and you’re gonna make me come.” 

Bill slips his fingers out of his mouth and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Wouldn’t be fair without fucking me first." 

Mike switches to the front camera, and smiles when Bill does. "Of course, anything for you. Tell me how you want it." 

“You’re bending me over...getting me wet and open before sinking into me, stretching me out.” 

Mike speeds up his lazy strokes, spurred on by Bill's soft panting.

"I want to be on top," Bill goes on, and his adam's apple jumps in his throat. "Wanna sit on your big fucking cock and let you fuck me from behind." 

"God, you'd fit perfectly on my lap. Rocking back against me while I split you open on my dick." 

"You feel so good...so fucking deep, fucking me until I can't remember my own name. So fucking strong, your arms wrapped around me to keep me from falling apart." 

"I want you to fall apart," Mike admits and Bill moans, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah, just like that. I want you to let go. I want you to scream, and say my name. I want to fuck you so well you can't help but cry." 

"You can lay me on my stomach, fuck me into your mattress." Bill's eyes are dark, his words thick and slurred. "I'd lie there and take it, let you give it to me the way I need it." 

"I can't wait," Mike says, letting his strokes get messy and out of rhythm, fully leaning into his want. Bill would look pretty all flustered and red with tears streaming down his cheeks and Mike's cock in his ass, and if it somehow doubled as a way to bring them catharsis in some roundabout way, that's even better. "When I see you, I'm going to take care of you, I promise. I can't wait to make you come. I want you to, right now. Want to see it. Are you close?" 

"Mmhmm. Keep talking." 

"After you come, I'll eat you out again. I just like feeling you squirm, I like making you feel good," Mike rambles, a delicious heat building at the base of his spine, spreading through his hips and his core. "You could sit on my face, use my tongue to make yourself come again. I'd wrap my mouth around your cock, and let you come down my throat. God, you look so good, I could swallow you whole."

Bill's mouth opens around moan, then a whimper, as he comes over his chest. He shudders, his eyes flutter open, and he twirls his tongue around his slick, messy fingers, keeping his gaze steady on Mike as he does. Mike snatches a pillow from his side and puts it in his lap, pressing it down to create a soft pressure, and rolls over onto his belly. He holds the phone clumsily in one hand and grinds against the pillow, chasing the gentle friction. When he comes, it feels like waves crashing, like the earth's core erupting through the cracked surface, like a fucking solar flare, flashing red and then white behind his eyelids. 

He sighs, lifting his eyes back to the screen. Bill's wearing a placid smile, watching Mike come down. Mike smiles back, adjusting the damp pillow between his legs. His limbs are heavy and loose, he couldn't move if he tried. "I'm not sure what to do with myself now."

“I wish I could kiss you,” Bill replies. “And fall asleep with you.”

Mike says, “I love you.” He presents it as it is, no friendly or platonic padding around it. There’s no mistaking it for anything else. It isn’t complicated, it just is. Mike is grateful for Bill and the love he’s harbored for him. He’s grateful for the way it exists. It exists the same way the plates of the earth slot together over time to make mountains, the same way the tide pushes and pulls, the same way a seedling will push through soil and persist despite its odds of surviving. Grand, natural, resilient. 

And Bill, just as uncomplicated, as if these ceremonious words are simply second nature, says, “I love you too.”

“I’m coming to see you,” Mike says, because the want inside him might overflow otherwise. “I love you,” he says again. “I want to kiss you every day,” he says, and adds, with a breathless laugh, “I want to make you come every day.”

Bill smiles, and says, “I love you too, I want the same thing. I’m waiting for you. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Mike breathes in, holds it, and lets it out slow. Bill’s smile goes soft because he knows, just as well, that the universe has peeled itself back dozens of times over to put them in the same place at the same time. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i'm @curiousair on ao3 and twitter


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